


The remembering wine

by Petra



Category: DCU - Comicverse
Genre: M/M, Mentor/Student, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-16
Updated: 2006-01-16
Packaged: 2017-10-11 18:33:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/115608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Petra/pseuds/Petra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are two nights a year when Dick has wine with dinner, and both times it serves to underscore how bittersweet history can be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The remembering wine

**Author's Note:**

> [](http://thete1.livejournal.com/profile)[**thete1**](http://thete1.livejournal.com/) and [](http://maelithil.livejournal.com/profile)[**maelithil**](http://maelithil.livejournal.com/) both approve of this story. They encouraged me, as did [](http://metaphoracle.livejournal.com/profile)[**metaphoracle**](http://metaphoracle.livejournal.com/) and the rest of the usual suspects.

  
There are two nights a year when Dick has wine with dinner, and both times it serves to underscore how bittersweet history can be.

They drink a toast to "Family," meaning the departed, though Dick adds a tribute to what they have. Soon he'll be expected to know one wine from the other, but for now all he can think of is blood-red, which it isn't, really.

He doesn't drink enough to be dizzy, or even enough to ease the pain of remembrance. Neither does Bruce.

When Dick was still a kid, it was easier to reach out to Bruce on these nights. He could ask to be held. Now he's too old for the hug he wants to just be about him, and it takes more of an act of will to put his arms around Bruce after dinner.

Bruce's hug feels just as strong as ever, and Dick isn't tall enough to put his arms around Bruce's shoulders, yet. He may never be at this rate. Bruce sighs a little and says, "Dick." He doesn't say, "It's all right," because he doesn't lie.

"I'm right here," Dick says, and he rests his head on Bruce's shoulder. Hugs don't last very long -- but it has been months since the last time they allowed themselves this.

Bruce isn't pulling away, yet. His breathing is a little slow; he can't possibly be intoxicated, but he's relaxed enough that he's letting Dick have this, and take a little comfort in it.

It's pushing every piece of luck he's ever had to turn his head and kiss Bruce's cheek, as if he were still a kid. As if he could still be overly demonstrative by Alfred's standards, and Bruce's.

Bruce sighs at the kiss, and Dick expects to be pushed away until Bruce squeezes his shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Dick says, and he returns the squeeze. If this is their annual chance to touch each other when nobody's bleeding, he's going to make the best of it.

He's kissing Bruce.

He doesn't actually have an intermediary thought there, because if he'd had one, the second part wouldn't have happened. There are all sorts of thoughts that go along with kissing Bruce, but most of them expect it to be a very short occurrence.

Bruce's hand is cupping his cheek as delicately as he'd hold a wineglass, and not -- somehow -- pushing him away. His fingers are shaking.

Dick is shaking. How he even -- how he wants this is one thing, but how anything made him think he could have it --

"This won't --" Bruce says, and breathes -- still close enough that Dick can feel the air move --and begins again. "This won't make it hurt less."

"No." Dick kisses him again, softly. It's bizarre that he is the one being gentle, that he should have to convince Bruce it's safe. "We already have each other." Another toast to Family, without the wine.

Bruce's smile is a ghost. "Yes." He touches Dick's cheek again. Dick tries to remember when the last time was he saw Bruce shake at all, and fails.

Then the trembling stops and Bruce kisses him, as sure and wonderful as a thousand dreams. Dick presses himself against Bruce and shivers, tasting the bitterness of the wine and the perfect warmth and heat of his mouth. He's aware that he's aroused in the same way he's aware that he's in the Manor. It couldn't be any other way, right now, with Bruce.

It's comforting -- dizzyingly -- to hear Bruce gasp and feel the same embarrassing response from him. If it wasn't Bruce, he'd laugh it off, the way Barbara used to laugh at him. Only a teenage boy problem.

It's not a problem here, and it's not even embarrassing. It's both of them, and Bruce is making a soft, soft sound against his mouth. "Dick," he says, and there's a gentleness in his voice, but no condescension. Bruce has never treated him like a child. "I don't want you to regret --"

Dick kisses him again to stop him from talking, with all the warmth he can put into it. They're partners, and it's always been his job to smile. "You only ever really regret the things you don't do," he says, and before Bruce can answer, Dick pulls him down into another kiss.

Bruce breaks the kiss off and says, "That's not accurate." He pushes Dick's hair away from his face and studies him for the space of a long breath. "Do you really --"

"Maybe I should ask you," Dick says, though the heat in his body hasn't faded at all. It would be easier to throw himself into another kiss, except that Bruce is leaning away enough to look at him. The only way to reach him is with words. "Yes, I love you. Yes, I want this. Do you?"

They were embracing before; now Bruce pulls him in closer, tighter, as if they're going to dance. Or make love, because the way Bruce kisses him means yes, and yes, and yes.

Dick wants to remember every moment of this, but he loses track of the kisses somewhere around the doorway to the upstairs study and kiss thirty-something. He's not conscious that he's being directed until they're at the door of Bruce's bedroom and the seventeenth kiss since they got upstairs. It is a dance, then, as well as something that makes his heart beat hard and fast.

"I forget how tall you are," Bruce says, and he sits on the edge of his bed, breaking the dance. It could have been 'how much you've grown,' but not here.

The years have passed for both of them.

"Not tall enough," Dick says ruefully, and he sits next to Bruce -- not on his lap. This is a different sort of comfort.

"Again we disagree," Bruce says, and he tucks his hands under Dick's vest, pulling it up. It's not that strange to have someone undress him, except that he could actually do it himself, tonight; he has no fresh wounds, just old scars.

Dick shakes his head. "It doesn't matter," he says, and lifts his arms to let Bruce take the vest off. When he has his hands free, he unbuttons Bruce's collar and kisses his neck, feeling the beginning of stubble there, while he unfastens the rest of the buttons on his shirt. "It won't change anything."

He hears the catch in Bruce's breathing and looks up. Bruce is smiling again. "No. It won't change anything that matters."

"Oh, Bruce, you're --" There aren't any good words, but kisses work just as well, and Bruce is unbuttoning his shirt. His hands are deft and distracting; he strokes and pinches at Dick's nipples until he gasps, biting his lip to clear his head, just a little. "God, if you do that --"

"What?" Bruce raises an eyebrow at him, and his eyes are dark, focused. His attention is entirely on Dick. It's like being touched everywhere, but if he thinks about that too hard, right now --

Dick takes a shuddering breath and unbuttons Bruce's pants. "It won't be fair."

Bruce chuckles -- just a soft breath -- and opens Dick's pants. "Won't it?"

"I --" He stands up just long enough to kick his shoes off and get out of the rest of his clothes. "I mean, it would've been a mess."

"Ah." Bruce runs his hands down Dick's back and along his thighs. "That's not an issue, now."

"No, but --" Dick leans on him a little. "Shouldn't you get undressed, too?"

"I will." Bruce kisses his forehead, then his lips. "Move up a little."

Bruce's bed is really huge. It's much bigger than Dick's, and it seems like no one should need that much space all to themselves. When Dick's got his head on the pillow, Bruce -- folding his pants and setting them down -- seems very far away, even though Dick's still near the edge. "I didn't think you'd kiss me," Dick says, because anything else he might say would sound hoarse and greedy.

Bruce's smile is wry, but very much there. He gets something out of the beside table, then kneels next to Dick and lets his hand settle on Dick's thigh. "I wasn't expecting it from you, either."

Dick wants to beg him to move his hand, but he can't. Not like this; it would be too demanding. He reaches for Bruce instead and finds the taut skin of his nipple. "It's --"

Bruce pulls away enough away to kiss Dick's thigh. "It's all right."

He can't help spreading his legs. The kiss tickles a little, and it feels wonderful. He reaches for Bruce's hand. "I can't touch you from here."

"There's time," Bruce says. "For now --" He leans in and kisses a line up Dick's thigh that makes him tremble. The warmth of his mouth is too much to take, and Dick has to watch. He can still taste the wine on the back of his tongue, but Bruce -- Bruce licking him, exploring with his mouth, is anything but bittersweet.

"Oh, Bruce." Dick tightens his hands into fists by his sides and tries to be strong enough not to beg, not to whimper aloud. There's a small sound, and Bruce's fingers are on his thigh, between his thighs. Pressing into him, slowly, slickly, and he can't help the moan. It probably shouldn't feel so wonderful to be touched there, but it makes him tremble.

"Are you --" Bruce meets his eyes again, watching everything in his face, in his body.

"Don't stop," Dick says. "Don't -- don't ever stop." He braces his feet against the mattress and arches into the movement. Before he closes his eyes with the pleasure of it, he sees Bruce smile at him.

"Beautiful," Bruce says in a whisper against his thigh, and Dick might blush, but not now, not like this. Not when Bruce follows that by sucking him, making him arch even farther off the bed and shudder with pleasure.

He hears himself make a broken, hungry noise and says, "Bruce -- please --" because even babble is more controlled than incoherent noises.

Bruce answers him with a hum and the wet sound of his tongue, and the stretch of another finger inside him.

There should be words, but Dick can only moan and clutch at the sheets. He pushes into Bruce's mouth and then -- in the midst of a thrust -- realizes it might be uncomfortable, but Bruce presses him faster. He can only think about the way it feels, only focus on the pleasure, the stretch and the heat that make him writhe until Bruce's fingers hit something inside him. Underscoring the sensation is the knowledge that this is Bruce, and that it's safe. He groans, past words, past everything but pleasure, and comes, shuddering with it and trying to hold onto it as long as he can.

Bruce lets him go. His mouth is wet, and Dick shivers, knowing the image will stay with him. He says, "Thank you," when he catches his breath a little.

"My pleasure," Bruce says. His lips are damp and soft on Dick's thigh.

"What did you really want?" Dick asks.

Bruce looks up sharply. "This."

Dick winces. "I meant -- what did you want me to do?"

"Dick --" Bruce moves to embrace him again. "It's all right."

"I know," Dick says, and kisses him. It's strange to taste himself in Bruce's mouth, and stranger when it kills the taste of wine. "Show me what you want, that's all."

He can feel Bruce shiver. "Fair enough." He kisses Dick's shoulder and reaches for the nightstand again, and comes back with the lubricant that must be what he'd used before. "Nothing overly ambitious, yet."

Dick blinks. "I can deal with ambition."

Bruce laughs and kisses him gently. "I don't have the patience for it." He pats Dick's thigh lightly. "Spread your legs."

That's easy, and it makes Bruce's breath catch a little. "What?" Dick asks.

Bruce shakes his head. "It's always good to see the result of diligent practice." He strokes the inside of Dick's thighs and gets them slick, but when Dick tips his hips up, Bruce stops. "This is enough."

"If you're sure." Dick runs his fingers through Bruce's hair.

"For tonight." Bruce kneels up a little and moves over him, nudging Dick's legs together gently. "If you're comfortable."

"Yes." Dick runs his hand over Bruce's shoulder and watches his face change with pleasure as he presses closer, thrusting between Dick's thighs. It's not quite what he expected, but having Bruce over him and on him is better than any daydream. He's close enough to kiss, and that makes up for the strangeness.

Bruce moves against him and groans into his mouth. When Dick pushes back, Bruce gasps and clutches his hip. "Dick," Bruce says, and though Bruce has said his name any number of ways before, it's never been quite like that.

"Keep going," Dick says, and he pulls Bruce's shoulders down. It's nothing like being pinned in a spar, though he's pinned; the expression of pleasure on Bruce's face is nothing like pain. "Please, Bruce --"

Bruce opens his eyes for a moment and looks at him, then closes his eyes and moans, thrusting harder, harder, and he's shaking as he comes.

He leans heavily on his elbows and catches his breath, briefly, before he looks at Dick again and smiles. "Was that all right?"

Dick arches up to kiss him, ignoring the stickiness between his legs. "A little unambitious, maybe." It's all too easy to tease Bruce.

Bruce raises an eyebrow at him. "Oh?"

Dick grins at him. "It was --" He shrugs a little. "We could do this every night and I'd -- it would be great."

"Hm." Bruce kisses him gently. "Though you'd like to try something more ambitious."

"Next time," Dick says, and squeezes Bruce's shoulder, hoping that it was the right answer.

Bruce chuckles and smiles; it was, and everything will be all right. "Fair enough."


End file.
